Back to That Guy With The Glasses
by San Diego Jacket
Summary: Doctors Insano and Linksano have developed a time machine, dragging Nostalgia Critic, Spoony, and Linkara along for the ride. However, when a familiar figure from the past gets his hands on it, can they fix Hypertime back to normal?
1. Flux Capacitor

_**A/N: Happy Back to the Future Day, everyone! Anyway, I've been tossing this idea around my head for a while now (at least since mid-June), so I figured, what better way to celebrate? I guess this could also count as a Halloween story, so that's a good perk. Enjoy!**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

Three loud knocks on Spoony's door startled the man awake.

"Come on, up and at 'em,"Dr. Insano, resident mad scientist, had his call muffled by the bedroom door. "I have something I want to show you."

Spoony grumbled as Insano walked away from the door. _Great,_ he thought. _The ONE night I'm able to fall asleep, and I'm woken up by Insano doing…something!_

"And take a shower!" Insano shouted from downstairs."I don't need you smelling up my latest creation!"

"Says the man who never leaves his lab," Spoony retorted, wiping sleep out of his eyes.

"I have a chemical shower!"

"I have a job!"

"As do I! Now shut up and get moving! Oh, and bring your camera!"

The Arizonian groaned again, getting off the bed.

As he shuffled through various shirts, he began wondering what Insano planned on showing him. The scientist had been rather quiet the last few weeks, staying in the lab longer than usual. He couldn't even find the time to take his weird pink puffball of a son to school, so Spoony had been filling in. After shrugging on a green t-shirt and jeans, the gamer haphazardly walked down the stairs. At first, he headed towards Insano's lab, but the door that connected to the garage was left wide open. The sound of welding came from down there, so Spoony followed it.

Insano had his head under a white bed sheet when Spoony reached the bottom of the steps. Hearing him enter, Dr. Insano quickly finished a few final touches before placing the sheet down. He turned to his companion – white lab coat, multicolored swirled goggles and all – with a wild grin on his face.

"Okay, two questions," Spoony began. "What's under the tarp, and will it blow up the house?"

"No!" The doctor paused. "Well, I'm…seventy-five percent sure this won't explode on us. Though my brother may be a bit rusty with fusion, so no promises."

Spoony groaned. "Insano, for the hundredth time, you can't destroy–!" However, he stopped, another thought occurring to him. "…'Brother'? Since when have you had a brother?"

Now Insano was wore a confused look. "…Since a few years ago? Remember? Wayne? You've met a few times!"

Spoony tilted his head.

Insano to squeeze the bridge of his nose. _"Linksano?"_

" _Oh_ , right, that _did_ happen." Spoony realized. "Wait, what does Linksano have to do with any of…this?" He gestured to the tarp.

The scientist looked over his creation and practically giggled. "You'll see. Did you bring the camera?"

"Yeah," Spoony held up his camcorder as proof. "Why?"

"Turn it on, turn it on!" The scientist was practically shaking now. With little more than an eye roll, Spoony flicked on the camera, focusing it on Insano.

"…Is it recording?"

"Yep. _Now_ are you going to tell me why the hell you wanted me here?"

"Of course, of course, just give me a second." Insano spent a few moments straightening his shabby black hair and attire. Finally, he cleared his throat. "Hello. My name is Doctor Oscar Schlumper. For the last several–."

Insano stopped when he heard Spoony failing to stifle a laugh. "What's so funny?"

"Sorry, sorry, I'm still not used to your full name." He continued on snickering.

"…This coming from a man called 'the Spoony One.'"

"Actually, that reminds me: aren't you supposed to be, like, a clone or some older version of me? So how do you–?"

"Because _SCIENCE,_ damn you!" This managed to get Spoony in a full-fledged chortle. "Great, now we're going have to reshoot this whole thing!"

"Ah, cool it, Doc. I'll edit this out."

"No! No edits! I want to show the world raw footage of my discovery – editing parts out would ruin all of it! Start over!"

Spoony suddenly stopped laughing. The scientist had never reacted so _seriously_ to anything.

…What was under that tarp that was so _important_?

He stopped recording that take and began a new one, once more putting full attention on the doctor.

"Thank you." Again, Dr. Insano began: "Hello. My name is Doctor Oscar Schlumper. For the past several weeks, my younger brother, Wayne – who, unfortunately, could not be here – and I have been working on a top secret project." The doctor walked to where there was a dry erase board, creating doodles as he spoke. "As many of you are aware, the movie _Back to the Future_ came out in theaters on July 3rd, 1985. Its sequel – _Back to the Future: Part II –_ was released four years later. These movies centered highly on an interlining continuity and previously thought to be impossible science to chronicle Marty McFly's antics throughout time. Truth be told, it was these very movies that sparked my interest in Science when I was only nine. For a while, Wayne and I had gone back and forth on the method of time travel proposed in the movies. That is, if a car hooked up with a 'Flux Capacitor' hits eighty-eight miles per hour, it can travel through time. Obviously, such a device could not be created back in the 1980s."

The scientist gained a smirk, directly turning to the camera. "But nowadays… That feat's not so impossible."

"Wait, wait." Spoony interrupted. "Are you saying…?"

"Indeed I am, Spoony One," Insano gestured to him with the marker he held in his hands. "We've created a device capable of _time travel._ "

"The rudimentary design was easy," he continued, once more going back to doodling. "The real trouble came with finding a power source capable of pulling off such a feat. As I did _not_ want to trade with terrorists, I had to find something else to power the Flux Capacitor 2.0. This is where Wayne came in. Through an extensive chemical resource library on Comiccron-1, he was able to create a mixture that could be able to create an infinite loop of regenerating, light speed energy. This would not only be able to slow time down, but – theoretically – bend it."

"How does he know this'll work?" Spoony cocked an eyebrow.

The scientist shrugged. "Never said; all he ever mentioned was having to owe Pollo 'big time'. Anyway, the vehicle where the Flux Capacitor 2.0 was secured onto will be able to theoretically to travel to any given point of time and space."

"Let me guess: it just has to travel eighty-eight miles per hour, right?"

"Eighty- _nine,_ actually – the movies were off by a point."

"…But this is all a _theoretical_ situation. You said it yourself – something like this is impossible!"

The scientist cracked a laugh. _"Previously thought_ to be impossible, Spoony! BEHOLD!"

Dr. Insano pulled off the tarp. After a moment, Spoony's dropped, with both of his arms falling to his sides making the doctor grin even wider.

"I know. Isn't she _something_?"

"I – Is that my car?You hooked up your science bullshit _to my car?!"_

"Of course! It was in the name of SCIENCE!"

"Sci – YOU DON'T MAKE MY CAR INTO A SCIENCE EXPERIMENT!"

"Nonsense!" He placed a hand on Spoony's shoulder. "Besides, I'm letting you drive!"

"…Letting me…?" Spoony's eyes widened in horror. He turned to Insano. "We're–?"

Another cackle escaped Insano's throat. "Yep! Let's take this baby for a test ride!"

* * *

 **Chapter One: Flux Capacitor**

Nostalgia Critic's eyes snapped open at his alarm.

Groaning, he groggily slammed his hand on the snooze button. He rubbed his eyes as he got out of bed. He went to his closet, tiredly dressing as he usually did for the day ahead. Slipping on his signature glasses, he only grabbed a mug of coffee before quickly heading out the door, paying no mind to his surrounding neighbors or neighborhood. Critic got into his car and quickly began driving to work. He still didn't pay attention to any surrounding billboards or shoppers during the drive – he was just praying he didn't end up in a traffic jam.

No, he only _really_ noticed something different after entering his office.

"Sorry I'm late," Critic absentmindedly apologized, "alarm fell behind. We should start sh– _AH!"_

His coworkers, Tamara and Malcolm, looked at him strangely. "You okay, Critic?" Malcolm asked.

Critic blinked twice. "Am I – Are _you two_ okay?! What is this, part of a sketch or something?"

"What are you talking about?" Tamara tilted her head. "We've been waiting for you to arrive."

"Then what happened to your _CLOTHES?!"_

"…Are you serious?" Malcolm readjusted a gaudy looking green chrome jacket, causing a metallic clank from an unknown source. For all Critic knew, it could have come from the horribly clashing black shirt or awkward looking silver helmet.

"Yeah, we've been dressing like this for a while. You know, like the rest of the world?" Tamara tapped a finger on her gold equivalent to a dog collar. One of her eyes had a red lightning bolt painted over it, and she wore a white shirt with gray triangles, black shorts, and black heeled boots.

"… _Why?"_

"Um, because of that huge campaign that's been going on?" Malcolm reminded him. "They've been running it all month. Have you've been living under a rock or something?"

Critic thought for a moment. "What's today's date?"

"October 21st," Tamara replied. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing, just making sure I didn't sleep until April Fools."

"Critic, did you suddenly get amnesia or something?" Malcolm commented. "The _Back to the Future_ anniversary? Everyone getting _way_ too excited for it? For God's sake, just look outside!"

He gestured to a window, causing Critic to turn.

And effectively drop his jaw.

He inched toward the window slowly, taking in all the madness. The street had literally changed overnight. It looked like various eighties commercials had a gangbang and this was its bastard child! Technicolor and neon oozed with a vengeance on every billboard and sign. And the passerby? Good Lord, Critic could only register scribbles and bright colors, not clothing! By the time Critic was pressing his face against the glass, Tamara and Malcolm shared a look.

"Really, Critic, are you—?" Tamara began, putting a hand on Critic's shoulder. At the touch, however, Critic nearly jumped three feet in the air. Tamara jerked her hand back as Critic's eyes darted between his two coworkers.

"Critic…?" Malcolm started.

It was too late by then, though.

He had bolted.

* * *

Critic stopped running for a moment, gasping for breath. He'd run into a part of town he never had seen before, a decent eight streets over from his office. Everyone had stared at him like a madman, as he did for them. The closed down strip mall he now stood in front of was abandoned, though still retained the horrid coloring of the rest of the place. No one else was there.

 _Okay, I don't THINK I played the Steven King Drinking game during Children of the Corn, but it HAS been known to cause memory loss…_ The NC scanned the area for Malcolm or Tamara.

As if on cue, Critic's phone rang. He hesitated slightly before taking it out his pocket. However, when he saw the number on the screen, he almost instantly accepted.

"If you don't explain what the _hell_ is going on within the next five seconds…!" He warned.

" _Oh, so you did notice the change."_ Linkara, comic book reviewer and longtime kinda/sorta cohort of the Critic's, casually answered. _"And no, I don't know what's happening, but you and I seem to be the only two so far unaffected."_

This managed to take Critic aback. "How many people have you called?"

" _Half of the site."_

"Jesus, NONE of them noticed?!"

" _Not one. They all said that it's been like this for at least a few weeks."_

"That's what Tamara and Malcolm said, too… How come this isn't affecting _us?"_

" _No clue. I've been scanning the globe for signs of any anomalies, but—."_ There was a sudden pause on the other line. _"Not now, Linksano, I'm – WHAT?!"_

"What happened?" Critic looked around the area once again.

" _Hold on for a sec, Critic."_ Linkara sounded like he was standing up. " _You did WHAT?!"_

"Lin–?!"

There were three beeps to signal the line cut off.

Several different expressions passed Critic's face in a few brief moments. Terror, anxiety, annoyance, and anger were just a few of them. He eventually took up a look of bitterness – at what, he wasn't entirely sure. The apparent alternate universe he dropped in. Malcolm, Tamara, and now Linkara. Maybe just at the world in general.

He looked to the left then to the right.

 _A second, huh?_

"One!" He shouted, looking left and right again.

Absolutely nothing.

The man was about to storm away when there was a flicker of light. He stopped; there was another flash. It was just out of the corner of his eye, but there was definitely no mistaking it: the NC turned to see a longer, lightning bolt of orange appear at the end of the street.

Suddenly, there was a sudden _SCREECH_ as something careened down the street. Critic covered his face, the light too bright to directly look at.

When the light was gone, and the abrupt wind gust had settled down, Critic put his arms down.

Not three feet from him was a silver Corolla. It would have looked completely normal, if not for the huge piece of machinery on the top. The device had a clear cover, revealing a rainbow-colored liquid oozing inside. It drained into several tiny, clear tubes, going down under the car to another smaller mechanism. Steam formed around it – not from the device itself (though it was clearly very hot,) but from the surrounding layer of ice on the hood, trunk, and middle section of the car. A small, ice-covered black camcorder, hastily strapped on by three yellow bungee cords, sat nearby it.

Just as Critic was beginning to comprehend the scientific monstrosity that lay before him, one of the back seat doors opened. A man in a familiar brown buttoned-up trench coat and fedora stepped out.

"Critic!" Linkara greeted, a smile on his face and an excited glint in his eye.

He closed the door just as the opposite one opened. It was Spoony this time, checking the camera on the hood on the car.

"Oh, for the love of – Insano, you said it wouldn't freeze!" Spoony complained, looking inside the car. "I swear, if this thing _breaks_ because of you, I'll—!"

Linkara, a little closer to the now open-mouthed Critic, cleared his throat, causing Spoony to look up.

"Oh, hey, Critic," Spoony began wiping off ice from his camera. "What's up?"

" _THE FLYING FUCK?!"_ Critic knocked over a garbage can as he scrambled away from the vehicle. "How the… What the… HUH?!"

Linkara looked back at the Corolla. "Okay, I get this is a bit bizarre…" He began, attempting to get the man to calm down.

"Bizarre? BIZARRE?! _Care Bears_ was bizarre, _Ninja Turtles_ was bizarre… _FOREST WARRIOR_ was bizarre! But _this?_ This is _INSANE!"_

"…Fair enough, but if you would just let me explain–!"

"Explain _what?!_ How you just jumped from Minnesota to Illinois IN THREE SECONDS?! Or explain what Spoony's doing here, 'cause I'm open for either!"

"Hey, leave me out of this!"

"Critic, please, calm down! I can–!"

"Calm down? CALM DOWN?! LOOK HERE, COMIC GEEK, I'LL–!"

The Nostalgia Critic was interrupted by a gurgling sound from his own throat. Near the bottom of his neck was a small tranquilizer dart, a tiny red feather sticking out the bottom. He yanked it out a few seconds before it took effect. He teetered a moment or two before finally collapsing onto the parking lot.

Spoony and Linkara turned to see Dr. Linksano holding a small tranquilizer gun. Unlike his brother, Linksano donned a gray trench coat, with short, wildly-styled brown hair. In fact, the only similarity the two seemed to share were the swirled goggles over their eyes. Insano, too, had opened the door to his seat.

"Nice shot," Insano complimented, getting out of his seat. "How long will he be out for?"

"Thanks," Linksano replied. "And I'd say about…an hour, thirty minutes? Depends on his weight."

"What the hell,Linksano?!" Linkara yelled.

"Hey, he was just going to keep complaining!" Linksano justified. "At least we'll be on the road when he wakes up. We'll explain then."

"Speaking of… Linkara, could you help me out with this?" Insano had already gone by Critic's body, attempting to lift the man. "He's surprisingly heavy."

Though looking rather miffed, Linkara went by his former nemesis to help. Spoony, meanwhile, having wiped the ice off his still-filming camera, turned to Linksano.

"Couldn't this be considered, like, kidnapping or something?" Spoony asked.

The younger scientist scoffed. " _Please_ , we're time traveling. Critic will thank us later."

"Not to mention," Linkara and Insano pushed Critic's body in the back seat, "we have some more pressing manners at hand. We need to get going." Insano, Linksano, Spoony, and Linkara filed back into the car, with Linkara helping to get Critic situated in the middle. "Besides, he'll be between you two when he wakes up, so he should be a _tiny_ less hostile."

"And if he isn't?" Linkara questioned, strapping on his seat belt.

The mad scientist grinned. "Well, like I said – he'll be by _you two_."

Linksano cracked a laugh (the other two reviewers gaining similar glares) as Insano floored the gas pedal.


	2. Traveling Back

_**A/N: Oh. Wow. Okay, if you made it past the first chapter's formatting, I applaud you. It has almost been a year since I updated this thing last. It wasn't intentional, but I kept pushing this back for no reason. Jeez. Sorry for anyone who was waiting for so long. On the up side, this thing was ten pages long when I typed it, so long chapter! And I plan on updating at least before another year passes, so hopefully this won't happen again. Hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

 **Chapter Two: Traveling Back**

"Are you sure you didn't give him an overdose?"

"Of course not! It's all based on weight, remember?"

"I'm with Linkara on this one. It's been two hours _,_ Linksano."

"Spoony, I spent twelve years at medical school. I know what I'm doing."

"Yeah, but–."

"AH!" Critic cried out, snapping upright in his seat.

"Ha!" Linksano laughed. "And you two were beginning to doubt me!"

As Linksano sat back in his chair, smugly grinning, Critic slowly began to piece together the scene. There were four other people in a car with him: Linkara, who sat on his left; Spoony, who sat on his right; Linksano, taking shotgun; and Dr. Insano, who was driving. Rainbow colored wires lined the roof of the cramped car, their neon colors adding to the already blurry surroundings. Something clear did poke out in Critic's drug-induced haze: a clock, connected to the radio. It read:

 _ **Month:**_ _ **NOV**_

 _ **Day:**_ _ **05**_

 _ **Year:**_ _ **2014**_

 _ **Location:**_ _ **Chicago, Illinois**_

"The hell's going on?" Critic slurred, less bitter than he intended.

Linkara thought for a moment, trying to figure out how to explain this to him. "Okay, remember how I hung up in the middle of our conversation? Well–."

"We're time traveling." Dr. Insano interrupted. "There, just saved you a three hour lecture. You're welcome."

Although Linkara looked slightly annoyed, Critic started to remember what happened before. "Wait, you two turned everything into eighties schlock?"

"How elsewhere we supposed to test to see if it worked?" Linksano replied, causing his brother to fail stifling a laugh.

"…Okay, while you two destroying the space-time continuum is nothing new, how the hell did you figure out this?"

"With _SCIENCE,_ of course!" The two men choired, breaking down into a small heap of giggles. Critic glanced between Spoony and Linkara.

"We'll talk later," Spoony explained. "I'm just making sure they don't wreck my car. And, hey, it's time travel. Why not?"

"And I'm making sure they don't screw up the time stream too badly." Linkara chimed in. "And, yeah, the time traveling part kinda helped."

"So, anyone care to explain why you kidnapped me?" Critic glared at the back of Insano and Linksano's heads.

"You expected us to leave you there?" Insano replied back. "When Linkara mentioned your memory hadn't been changed, I figured it'd be easier if you went along with us. And, before you ask, no, I don't know why you retained your memories. My best guess is something relating to the Plot Hole you merged with a while back. I dunno, it might've screwed around with your DNA more than I thought."

"So, Critic woke up." Spoony began. "Now care telling us what the hell we're doing?"

"Eh, details, details," Linksano replied, checking some of the car's random gauges.

Spoony scowled. "This isn't a goddamn detail! We've been in this car for hours and you've just answered 'Uh, science,' to all of our questions!"

"It doesn't matter now," Insano interrupted. "We're already here."

Linkara, Critic, and Spoony looked out the window. Critic, having been unconscious for the majority of the ride, barely got a glimpse of the tunnel-like time void they'd traveled out of. The most he saw was tiny white lights – stars, perhaps – against a cobalt backdrop. However, he got a much better view of their current location.

Much to his surprise, they were in downtown Chicago, near the Loop. Skyscrapers, restaurants, and hotels both stood out and blended together as the Corolla slowed down. The L-Train rumbled on its tracks as busy passerby talked on phones or sipped on hot coffees. The recently arrived time travelers, pulling in front of a parking meter, got a bit of attention from curious passerby, but not enough for them to start forming a crowd. They assumed it was merely a movie shoot or fanatic fans on a joyride. (Though the ice on the car that somehow didn't melt in direct sunlight was a little weird; it looked too real to be practical effects, but how could ice stay on a car without melting?)

After a moment, Linkara spoke: "Uh, any particular reason why you wanted to go here?"

"Wayne and I have some business to attend to." Insano replied, slipping a quarter into the parking meter. He looked up to see Spoony unstrapping the re-iced camera from the car roof, mumbling angrily. "If you damage that video at all, I'll bash your skull in with a sledgehammer."

"This is still _my_ camera, asshole. I know what I'm doing."

Insano headed to the back of the car as one of Linksano's eyebrows rose. "Wait, 'Wayne and I'? Since when have–?"

"I'll explain later," Insano mumbled, grabbing the key to the car trunk. He turned his head to the three reviewers. "In the meantime, you three can travel around the city. I don't know, have a drink or something. Meet us back here in two hours. Don't destroy anything."

"We'll try." Critic replied, rubbing his jaw to try to bring sensation back to it.

Linkara turned to Spoony and Critic as Insano opened the trunk. "Well, you heard the man. Let's go."

"Aren't you worried about what Insano's up to?" Spoony asked, shutting the camera off and stuffing it in his jacket.

Linkara shrugged. "Since I'm technically Linksano's boss, I'm pretty sure he'll keep him in check." He turned to Critic, who'd been scanning around the area, as he still disbelieved they were even there. "Know any good bars?"

* * *

"Alright, could someone please explain any of this to me?"

The three reviewers were inside Brando's Speakeasy, a bar on South Dearborn Street. It wasn't extremely crowded at one o'clock on a Wednesday afternoon, so it was an ideal location to talk. Critic, who'd asked the question, sat down as he put three beers on the table. Spoony glanced over at the bar. The lone bartender wasn't paying much attention to the three men, more focused on wiping down the bar counter with a dish rag.

"Okay," Spoony began, "from Insano's initial explanation, I can figure out this much: Insano and Linksano are such massive _Back to the Future_ fans they decided to invent time travel just so they could prove the 'science' from it was legit. The end result was a device that's able to continually create energy. If this energy's put under the correct conditions – or, in our case, eighty-nine miles per hour–."

"Isn't it eighty-eight?"

"Apparently they were off a point. If we travel eighty-nine miles per hour, the energy is able to create a small window in the space-time. By going inside, we could go to any point in the past or future."

"But this can present a bit of a problem," Linkara continued. "As we can travel literally anywhere _,_ we could easily get lost. So, they created a clock to help smooth out everything. It fits in with the movies, too, so that's a perk. Just input the date and location and bam!You're there."

"Anywhere?" Critic asked. "So, if I input the date of the Kennedy assassination, it could take me right to the scene?"

"…Well, yeah, but you shouldn't." Spoony answered. "Remember how everyone looked like they were in a bad eighties music video this morning? That was only a minor change."

Critic froze, his drink halfway to his lips. He put it down as he spoke. "So, we could be screwing up the timeline just by having a drink?"

"Nah, we're good." Linkara reassured. "That's like saying the Titanic sank because you broke a plate. It just doesn't work like that."

Still, Critic left his drink alone for the time being. "How were you two not affected by the memory loss?"

"I was traveling with Insano." Spoony explained. "Linksano said he was on Comicron-1, and time moves differently on there, so that's he got out."

"I happened to be teleporting at the time," Linkara answered. "When Alan looked like a white M.C. Hammer, I figured something was up and headed back home, and you know the story from there."

"Hm. I guess that leaves only one question."

"Shoot." Spoony took a swing of his drink.

"Why the hell would they decide to make the time machine out of your Corolla?"

"'Because it's the closest thing we're getting to a DeLorean, damn it! Those things are expensive!'" Linkara replied in his most Insano-like voice. Critic and Spoony laughed a little.

"Speaking of, what do you think those two are doing?" Spoony asked to no one in particular.

"No clue." Linkara shrugged. "Here's to hoping that it won't blow up in our faces."

The three shared another small laugh as they _clinked_ their beers together.

* * *

"Come on, we're almost there!" Insano exclaimed, weaving in and out of the crowd with relative ease.

Linksano, meanwhile, was having a more difficult time following his brother. He was hoping that security in the building they were heading to would let them in, despite the fact that they were covered head to toe in dust after beating down a condemned building's wall. Or the fact that Insano still held the sledgehammer in his hand, which he got from the trunk of the car. Luckily, a fight among a few men in suits managed to distract the security guard. A line of dirty footprints followed the two across the black tiled floors into the elevator. No one else joined them before the doors closed and they began heading to the top floor.

"Alright, so. What are we doing here?" Linksano asked once more.

Insano groaned, checking his watch once again. "I told you, everything will make sense in a second. Just follow my lead, alright?"

Though Linksano's eyes narrowed, he didn't press for any more information. The elevator dinged as they finally reached the top floor. However, when Linksano exited the elevator, Insano grabbed him and pushed him off to the side.

"What the–?!" Linksano began. However, Insano put a hand over his mouth before hiding right next to him.

All of the sudden, there was the sound of a door opening and closing. Along with it, two pairs of footsteps rang out, with one of them asking, "But what does any of this have to with time travel?"

Linksano froze. He knew that voice.

"All will be revealed in due time, Spoony One." The other – _Dr. Insano's_ voice replied, with a bit of a giggle. To Linksano's shock, the two men walked right past them towards the staircase. "For now, though, we have to pick up Linksano. He'd never forgive me if I left him out of this."

The two entered the stairs without seeing the two scientists. Insano uncovered Linksano's mouth as the latter turned to the former, a dumbfounded look in his eye.

"Again, follow my lead." He cryptically replied. The mad doctor placed the sledgehammer down and walked to the middle of the hallway.

Suddenly, he began running.

Linksano, though all the more bewildered, followed suit.

Within moments, Insano threw open the final door in the hall, which had black, bold lettering that read " **CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER** ". Sure enough, a black suited man sat bewildered behind an oak desk. Linksano hung back in the door frame as Insano practically threw himself on the ground.

"Oh, thank God, I finally found you!" He exclaimed. He gripped the sides of the desk as he continued: "Listen to me. I've just come back from the future to warn you not to use those designs I pitched to you. Those designs… Those designs lead to revolution in North Korea! Who take it out on us, the Americans! The British and French get pissed and fire back at Korea, who's engaged in another war with South Korea! Eventually, Japan and Russia get involved… It's disastrous! Total nuclear warfare! They begin experimenting on CIVILIANS, for God's sake!" He gestured towards Linksano. "Just look what they did to my twin brother! All because of those damn designs I gave to you! Please, for the love of Christ, throw them away! Better yet, burn them!" He suddenly grabbed the sides of the terrified CEO's suit jacket, shaking him as he continued on. "DO YOU HEAR ME?! BURN THEM! BURN THEM FOR THE SAKE OF _HUMANITY!"_

Insano unlocked his iron grip to go into pretend hysterics, crouching on the floor. Linksano, sensing this was his cue, helped his brother up. The poor CEO was left slack-jawed as Linksano escorted his quivering brother out. After shutting the door and going down the hall a bit, Insano dropped the act, shirking away from his brother's hand.

"Well, that was easier than expected," Insano remarked, wiping some dust off of him.

"And what exactly was that?" Linksano asked, still having no clue what was going on.

"Preventing an eighties fashion revival," he replied. "Come on, we need to get the others."

Insano walked away like nothing had just happened. Linksano sighed and followed him to the stairs, silently praying that this didn't end up backfiring as well.

* * *

"What is the mark of a good villain?"

A man wearing a blue beanie looked up from his phone. "Huh?"

"The mark of a good villain changes every so often." The barista, wearing a green apron over a black leather trench coat, continued as if he hadn't heard the other man. "Sometimes, it is their ability to frighten the 'hero' of the tale through word of mouth."

The customer glanced to the left and right. "Uh, I don't really—."

"But maybe it is the way they calculate their schemes." The overhanging lamp's light reflected off the barista's sunglasses. He still had them on, even though it was an hour into his shift. "The meticulous planning accounting for every possibility, every outcome, every little hiccup to make a plan completely fool proof."

"Look, I just want a cappuccino. Could you just get started on that?"

"Personally, though, I find it is the method of intimidation that defines a villain." He placed both of his hands on the counter, causing the costumer to take a step back. "The way they can simply speak that could send shivers down someone's spine. How their mere presence in a room can make people uncomfortable." He leaned towards the costumer. "And, most damningly of all, how with the slightest twitch of an eye or muscle spasm that they are able to condemn someone to death."

"MALACHITE!"

Malachite yelped, curling away from his manager, a robust woman named Mindy. She scowled as she walked towards them.

"That's it, you're off register." Mindy grabbed a box from under the counter and shoved it into Malachite's hands. "From now on, you're restocking inventory. Get to it!"

Malachite sighed, readjusting his grip on the box as he walked away.

"Sorry, he's a transfer." Mindy apologized to the customer, who looked as if he was about to run out. "If I wasn't so short on labor he'd be fired." She flashed a smile. "Can I take your order?"

Malachite's fall from grace had been a long and painful one. At one point, he'd been on top of the world, so powerful people quivered at mere mention of his name. His confidante, Aeon, had begun to teach him the ways of Science and alchemy. He would have been able to rule the world if he desired.

But all that changed when Aeon decided Science would rule the world instead of Magic.

It wasn't long afterwards before the king directed all studies to be purely on the logical rather than the mystical. Malachite feared for his future – his power could be lost, reduced to nothing. Aeon had attempted to focus Malachite's power into the world of Science; he believed Magic could only produce shortcuts, not long term solutions. But Malachite refused to become slave to reality. Becoming an alchemist would disgrace his life's work.

So, he did the only thing he could do: challenge Aeon to a duel.

Malachite and Aeon confronted each other on what was to be their final battle. Though Malachite wielded Malachite's Hand, a gauntlet of awesome power, Aeon won out with a ring he had fashioned using magical techniques Malachite himself had taught him. Malachite bitterly remembered how he shouldhave died on that field. If Aeon had truly once called him "friend," he would have killed him, spare him from whatever fate lay now before him.

However, Aeon refused to let their final meeting end in bloodshed. He took away Malachite's Hand, the source of his power, and let his "friend" live on. Just as Malachite feared, Magic that once nearly dominated the Earth was rendered useless with the spread of Science. He bitterly watched the emergence of mass communication and everyday luxuries, something his accursed eternal life had made possible. One day, though, there was a glimmer of hope: he found the location of Malachite's Hand. He found it – hell, wore it – once more. Finally, he would be able to return to his former glory!

So, what stopped him?

Cosplaying Internet reviewers and a former Planeteer.

The utter embarrassment of such a thing cannot be put to words.

Somehow, after his defeat, he became cursed to work in a coffee shop. The shop had branched out over the last three years and he was relocated to a Chicago location, hating his birth with every new espresso made. Still, he had to take it like the man he once was. Malachite began putting more coffee lids near the Splenda and napkins, grumbling ancient curses under his breath.

Since his back was to the door, he didn't notice three of those Internet reviewers – Critic, Spoony, and Linkara – enter the coffee shop. Linkara had entered first, holding the door for Critic and Spoony to stumble in. Both of them were snickering about something, but only they knew what. Both of their cheeks were flushed a deep red and Critic's tie hung crooked.

"How did you two get drunk so fast?" Linkara asked, closing the door behind him. "We had two rounds."

Critic and Spoony looked at Linkara and then at themselves, breaking down into a heap of giggles. Neither one decided to reply. Linkara sighed.

"Yep, today's gonna be a fun day," Linkara muttered.

When Linkara looked around the small shop, he almost instantly noticed the man angrily stacking coffee lids near the counter.

 _Heh, he looks a lot like Malachite_. Linkara laughed a little at the thought.

He also noticed the familiar black curly hair and wide-rimmed fedora, also associated with the sorcerer.

The comic reviewer's brow furred a little. _He…really looks like Malachite…_

That's when Linkara finally noticed the straight, brown wooden staff that leaned against one of the nearby yellow walls.

 _Holy crap, that is Malachite!_

Linkara quickly pushed Critic and Spoony into a nearby booth. They narrowly avoided Malachite's glance, curious about where all the giggling was coming from. Seeing nothing, he shrugged and returned to hating his existence.

"Whoa, Linky-Lou, what's the rush?" Spoony asked, slurring a little. Linkara didn't respond immediately, so Spoony asked a little louder: "HEY, LIN—!"

"Spoony, quiet down!" Linkara rasped, finally turning to him. "I think Malachite's restocking sugars by the counter."

"Malachite?" Critic asked. However, after a moment, his eyes widened. "Oh, wait! Didn't he wear a stupid ass hat?"

"Nah, you're thinkin'…thinkin' of Linkara." Spoony joked, making the two of them crack up.

"Could you two stay silent for more than three seconds?" Linkara glared at the two of them.

"Hey! We're"—Critic spaced out for a second, pointing an excusing finger at Linkara—"perfectly quiet, jerk-off!"

Before Linkara could reply, the bell that announced someone opening the door rang. He looked behind his booth chair to see the blue beanie man hurrying out the door, coffee in hand. When the glass door shut again, Linkara saw that Malachite wasn't by the coffee stirrers or creamer anymore. A quick glance around revealed nothing, either, making it seem like the dark sorcerer had just vanished into thin air. Linkara let out a little sigh of relief and got up.

"Right, he's gone. I'm getting a coffee." He turned to Spoony and Critic, who still looked angry, but didn't seem to remember over what. "You two want anything?"

"Margaritas!" Spoony sat straight up, only for his sudden burst of energy to disappear within a second. He tried to lean back into the booth's cushions, but only ended up lying on the Critic's chest.

"We anywhere near Na-Naci-Nacio _nal_ Twenty-Seven?" Critic asked. _"El Corazon's_ the best Margarita in town."

"Really?" Spoony looked up at Critic's beard, beginning to poke at it.

"Yep. Costs twelve bucks, though."

"Hell. Betta be the best damn thing I ever drink."

Critic inexplicitly laughed once more, though Spoony was too preoccupied with beard poking to notice. Linkara slightly rolled his eyes, heading to the back of the line.

While waiting, there was a sudden vibration in Linkara's pocket. After another vibration, he finally took his phone out to see Harvey was calling him. He noticed the phone's time date hadn't changed from going back in time, so Linkara wasn't sure if it was still connected to the present or if Harvey had just randomly called him today. Then again, if memory served, the whole King of Worms fiasco was just coming to a close. He remembered the lounge singer didn't use his phone at all a few weeks afterwards. The technology motif had freaked Harvey out especially. His glance still lingered on anything electronic in case it decided to come to life.

Warily, Linkara accepted the call and placed the phone near his ear. "Hey, Harvey."

Linkara flinched when Harvey started shouting on the other line, quickly turning down the volume. He didn't catch the majority of what was said, though he did hear "disappear", "Linksano", and "where". There was no way he could answer this call without attracting attention to himself.

 _Well, more attention,_ Linkara thought, glaring at Spoony and Critic out the corner of his eye. At least they had calmed down. Critic seemed to have fallen asleep as Spoony's attention now turned to fiddling with his friend's tie.

Linkara felt the phone speaker still vibrating from Harvey's ranting. He quickly left the line and made a beeline for the men's restroom. One of the stalls seemed to be occupied, but whoever was in it kneeled. If the scrubbing sound was anything to go off of, they were much more focused on cleaning than they would be on him. Still, Linkara made sure to turn around as he placed the phone next to his ear. The other line had gone silent, save for a few pants so Harvey could regain his breath.

"Finished?" Linkara asked. The grumble on the other line was expected. "Look, I'm sorry Linksano and I worried you, but we're fine. … I'm serious! … *sigh* Alright, do you want the truth? … We're in 2014."

A new outburst began. Again, Linkara couldn't pick up on most of the words, mostly because he'd tuned them out. After a minute, Harvey's voice became quieter. He was probably losing his voice at this point.

"Okay, so—. … No, we're not alone. Critic, Spoony, and Dr. Insano are with us. … Well, it's better than nothing. … Of course I don't know why he built a time machine. Something about _Back to the Future?_ It's weird. But we shouldn't be much longer here. Linksano and Insano had to do something, but we're all meeting up in—," Linkara glanced at his wrist communicator, programmed to check the time, "—holy crap, twenty minutes? Huh. I guess time really does fly by. … Harvey, it was a j—y'know, nevermind. Anyway, I need to go. I guess you could say we're about to travel back, to the future! … *sigh* I need to show you more movies. … Bye."

Linkara clicked his phone off and went out the bathroom. He, Spoony, and Critic would have to hurry if they were to make it back in time.

Malachite opened the door of the bathroom stall he was in. The scrubbing brush he held was thrown onto the floor as Malachite quickly exited the restroom. He had to be quick if he wanted to get on his break before losing the three reviewers. It was the only way he could leave the coffee shop.

For good.


	3. Skewed Timelines

_**A/N: Wow, an update before the end of the year! It's a miracle. Also, the poem that appears in this chapter is not mine. It's called "The Man in the Moon". The version I use is translated from Old English by Jane Draycott.**_

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Skewed Timelines**

Linkara glanced over his shoulder for the fifth time. He didn't know what he was looking for, if anything at all. The crowds of people that inhabited the Loop made the area too thick to look for a single person. Everyone was also too busy with their own schedules to notice him, Critic, or Spoony. No one had so much as glanced their way once. Still, seeing Malachite at the coffee shop had spooked Linkara, even if the sorcerer had vanished as soon as he appeared. Linkara figured the paranoia was a precaution, nothing more.

 _Still,_ he thought, _what if…_

A chuckle broke Linkara from his thoughts. He found it coming from Spoony, who sloppily crossed his arms. Much to Linkara's dismay, the Critic wasn't next to him.

"Uh, Spoony, where's Critic?" Linkara darted his head around the crowd.

"I— He—," Spoony broke down into chuckles, brushing his hair back, "he went by some guy with a white shirt and long black hair. Then he said somethin' 'bout a Douchey McChokeABitch or whatever and left."

The color drained from Linkara's face. He quickly grabbed Spoony's arm as to not lose him too and frantically began searching for Critic.

Malachite, meanwhile, had followed the three reviewers far enough so that he could go off on his own. It wasn't hard to find Insano and Linksano afterwards. No one else in the crowd wore swirled goggles or was wiping off concrete dust from their clothes. As a precaution, Malachite walked in step alongside the crowd, but kept his eyes on the two doctors.

It worked. Insano and Linksano didn't suspect anyone to be watching them as they talked.

"Was so much rubble really necessary?" Linksano asked, furiously shaking his hair out to get rid of the white dust. "I still don't get why we had to do it at all."

"Authenticity, my dear Wayne," Insano replied. "No one would've taken us seriously otherwise."

Linksano gave Insano a look. "Do I have to explain everything wrong with that statement?"

"Well, it's done, so that's that." Insano scanned around the area. "Where the hell are those three? At least Linkara should've been here by now."

Linksano also began searching the area. Malachite momentarily shifted his eyes, but began to move towards their car. Again, neither doctor noticed, but Linksano did notice Critic angrily shouting as Linkara attempted to hold him back. The man Critic yelled at was both confused and frightened, awkwardly standing back as Linkara tried to apologize. Spoony was just laughing on the sidelines.

"Oh," Linksano said, causing Insano to look at him. "We, uh, might have a situation."

Insano sighed. "Crap. C'mon, I'm not waiting for the police."

The two left to break up the fight. Malachite, finding his opportunity, quickly broke away from the crowd and went to the Corolla. When he reached the trunk, Malachite glanced over his shoulder. Both Insano and Linksano were fast approaching the fight scene, with Insano shouting something Malachite couldn't make out. Critic shouted an insult as Linkara seemed to grow more stressed by the second. Spoony had lost interest in the fight, but was now pointing at Linksano's goggles like this was the first time they ever appeared. Satisfied, Malachite pressed his fingers against the trunk's lock. He murmured a few words in a long dead language and there was a _click_. The trunk opened with ease. As soon as he climbed in, Malachite quickly shut the trunk door, making sure to lock it with the same spell. After that, all he had to do was lie down, cast a cloaking charm, and wait.

Malachite's patience didn't have to strain for more than a few minutes. He heard the car doors unlock and open.

"—and I'm gonna find a way to kick your ass to the fifth dimension!" Critic shouted as Linkara shoved him into the backseat.

Linkara sighed. "He won't shut up during the car ride, will he?"

"I mean, he might." Linksano tried to sound hopeful. "We don't know how time travel affects drunken people yet."

"Is no one gonna bring up how there are vortexes were Linksano's eyes should be?" Spoony sounded terrified.

"You two are so lucky I can't leave you here," Insano murmured under his breath. He took the car out of park.

Spoony looked at Insano and gasped. "You don't have eyes either!"

Insano's murmurings sounded more annoyed as he pushed on the gas petal.

* * *

Critic and Spoony fell out their respective doors as soon as they landed back in 2015. Critic recognized the neighborhood as the strip mall he was first "picked up" at. It seemed to still have been the exact moment in time he left. Unlike before, though, the mall was made up of plain red bricks. At least it didn't contribute to his already throbbing headache. He groaned as Linkara stepped over his legs to get out the Corolla.

"You alright there?" Linkara asked.

"I feel like I'm hungover and drunk at the same time." Critic answered.

"Well, at least we know what happens to intoxicated time travelers." Insano shut his car door and walked over to Critic and Linkara. He tapped Critic with his foot as he continued, "Could be worse. You could be dead."

"Bite me, asshole."

Insano and Linkara turned to Linksano helping Spoony up. He, too, was in a similar state to Critic's. Spoony seemed to be a little better than Critic, though, as he was able to remain upright. He rubbed his eyes as Insano scanned the top of the car roof.

"Where's the camera?" Insano asked.

"Huh? Oh, it's still in the car." Spoony hobbled over to his door, opening it up after a few failed tries. He picked up the camera and slammed the door shut, holding it above his head so Insano could see.

Insano gained a wide smile. "Excellent. Now, I have definitive proof of time travel!" He pointed at Linksano. "And you owe me fifty bucks! Pay up!"

Linksano groaned. "Okay, fair enough."

Insano cackled as Linksano pulled out his wallet.

"Wait, you guys bet on this?" Critic asked, finally able to stand up.

"Of course we bet on it!" Insano turned his head towards Critic, but kept his hand stretched outright for his cash. "That's how everything got started!"

"I thought it was because of your mutual love for _Back to the Future,_ " Spoony said.

"And science in general," Linkara pointed out.

"It was mostly that stuff, but the money helped." Linksano clarified. He handed his fifty to Insano, who giggled as he accepted.

"Alright, Spoony and I need to get back to Arizona," Insano said as he pocketed his money. "We need to get our video into the house. Wayne, could you be a dear and send us home?"

"What about the car?" Critic asked. "This isn't a busy street, but it still sticks out like a sour thumb."

"We'll send it up to Comicron-1 once everything's settled." Linksano typed some coordinates into his wrist communicator. "I'll check the globe to see if anything major was affected." He looked up at Linkara. "I'm assuming you'll help?"

Linkara shrugged. "Sure. But I'm getting tea in the apartment first. I'm still a little freaked out by, uh, a weird encounter back in the past."

Linksano raised an eyebrow. "Weird as in…?"

"I'll tell you while we're scanning."

"Uh, guys what about—?"

Before Critic could finish, though, Linkara, Linksano, Spoony, and Insano all teleported out of there. Critic scowled.

"Oh, thanks, dickweeds!" He shouted at the air. "Guess I'm walking home!"

The wind picked up a little, but no reply came. The NC sighed, sticking his hands in his pockets. Nostalgia Critic grumbled as he started walking back to his studio.

Malachite removed the cloaking spell as he sat up. He climbed over the car seats of the Corolla, being careful not to kick the time-keeping radio clock as he crawled into the driver's seat. Malachite lifted his hand over the ignition key slot. Like with the car lock, he whispered a spell in a dead language. The Corolla turned on, and the clock read that day's date.

For the first time in millennia, Malachite smiled.

* * *

Walking through the first street alone made Critic the tiniest bit uneasy. There was something unnatural to the silence, as if he'd just made a terrible decision. Then he remembered being abandoned by the others and relapsed into annoyance. It was enough to distract him from the lack of machine noises or other big city noises.

Linkara took a sip of his tea as Linksano typed into a computer. The keyboard he typed on was connected to several huge monitors, each of them showing the area below them. Comicron-1 hovered over the Earth in an orbit, so they were never technically over Linkara's hometown. However, various foreign governments made very clear that they did not want a ship armed with highly dangerous weapons above their heads. To ease any possible tension, they agreed to only hover above American territory. Currently, they overlooked New York City, with its tall grey skyscrapers looking as if they wanted to touch the hull of the ship. The video, as always, was a few seconds delayed.

"Anything off so far?" Linkara asked, staring at the monitors as he walked towards them.

"No." When he arrived next to Linksano's chair, the scientist glanced at Linkara's _Doctor Who_ coffee mug. "Lady Grey with two sugars?"

"Chamomile with honey," Linkara took another loud sip.

Linksano let out a single whistle. "What freaked you out that much?"

Linkara stopped before he could take another sip. He lowered the mug as he chuckled.

"Honestly, it wasn't as bad as you think. I don't even know if he was really there or if it was just my stress overacting. I was at this coffee shop with Critic and Spoony when I saw—."

He was cut short when a loud alarm began blaring.

* * *

Critic was walking down the second street when he noticed his watch was gone. It was just a regular electronic wristwatch, but he still remembered putting it on that morning. How else was he was supposed to tell the time? Well, he supposed he could—.

Wait, no. There was another way. Critic looked up. The sky was overcast, but he could still make out the Sun's outline. It was west, beginning its slow descent towards evening. Two-thirty in the afternoon, on the dot.

The NC chuckled a little. He'd learned that when he was a kid. He continued walking, remembering hunting with his father back when he was young.

* * *

"An anomaly?" Linkara's eyes narrowed as Linksano typed once more into his keyboard, a little faster than before. "Where is it?"

"I'm looking for it now," Linksano said. "Honestly, I might have a good idea what it is. Oscar and I had to put on a…'show' to fix something he changed in the past. The present might just be experiencing a temporary hiccup trying to sort things together."

"Would it be hard to fix?"

"Not in the slightest. Hell, it'd really just sort itself out." The computer _beeped,_ having found what was causing the anomaly. Linksano typed in a few commands as he mentioned, "I don't get why everything's reacting so violently, though. That wouldn't really—."

Linksano and Linkara froze. Video images from the ground had just reached the ship's monitors from the delay. Both men paled considerably at the sight they saw.

Linksano quickly typed in another command.

* * *

Critic narrowed his eyes during the third street of his journey. The hunting memories didn't feel real. It didn't make any sense; he had gone on those trips. He was sure of it. He could remember the chill in the air as he killed his first deer, which was able to feed his family for a week when the winter reached its worst. He remembered hearing his father's laughter as they treaded through the snow to check rabbit traps. He remembered the sting of accidentally cutting himself with a knife, causing a scar to form on his hand.

Or at least, so he thought. Because he didn't have a scar on his hand, or any sign that a scar was there in the first place. Critic never had to hunt to get food. He only ever had to run down to the grocery to get something to eat. He'd never even gone hunting in his life. Yet even then, those memories of grocery store aisles didn't feel real. What even was a "grocery store"? It looked like an indoor market, but some food was "processed" or "microwavable". It was like reading Latin! He'd never heard any of those words in his life!

But one of those sets of memories had to have happened, right? The only question was of which one.

Despite how obvious the answer should have been, though, Critic still second-guessed himself each time he came to a decision.

* * *

Spoony wasn't expecting to be teleported into Comicron-1 midway through taking off his jacket. He also wasn't expecting Insano to arrive next to him, bent over and holding a camera chip. Both of them showed equal confusion as they straightened up, glancing around the room. Insano slipped the camera chip into his pocket as Linkara and Linksano hurried over next to them.

"Why are we on your ship?" Spoony's eyebrows furred as he looked at Linkara. His eyes softened, though, when he realized Linkara was shaking. "Whoa, is everything okay?"

"Something's gone wrong," Linkara explained. He took off his fedora and ran his fingers through his hair. "Linksano and I were searching the ground below for any anomalies, y'know, so we can figure things out. S-someone must've gotten hold of the time machine, because—."

"Where's Critic?"

* * *

Things started to make a little more sense for Critic on the fourth street. The hunting memories were definitely the real ones. No doubt in his mind. C'mon, what even were "Hot Pockets"? The lack of a scar was a little disorienting, but then he remembered one of his neighbors was a Mage, and was more than willing to fix his hand.

Jeez, that sounded like something out of a fantasy novel.

…

What were fantasy novels?

The NC groaned as he once again scanned through his brain for the truth.

* * *

Linksano was the one who'd noticed Critic's absence. Spoony and Insano looked at him in a similar state of confusion, though only Linkara mirrored Linksano's look of horror.

"His teleport chip was connected to his phone." Linkara remembered.

If possible, Linksano turned whiter than before. He scrambled back to the computer as Linkara's hand fell back to his side. Spoony turned to his friend and became worried when he noticed Linkara had turned rigid.

"Linkara, what's going on?" Spoony asked in a calm voice, as to not further spook the comic reviewer. "You said something about an anomaly?"

Linkara had an iron grip on his hat, but he didn't answer.

* * *

Critic became aggravated when he entered the fifth street. He more or less had a grasp on the fakeness of fantasy books by that point, but a whole new problem showed up when he realized he wasn't wearing what he put on that morning.

Though, again, it wasn't as simple as it seemed.

He had memories of putting on blue jeans – even though he had no idea what "jeans" were – and black tennis shoes – again, without knowing what "tennis shoes" were. He also wore more familiar items: a beige apron, stained with black paint; a black tunic, which still had a tear he needed to repair; coarse brown work gloves. Even then, he still couldn't figure out which of the memories were faked. Both of them felt like they happened, though he knew that wasn't true. His mind was turning into a contradiction by that point!

Critic took a deep breath. His workshop was only three streets away. As soon as he made it there, things would fall back into place. It had been a mistake to walk that far, and he now realized that. Critic never saw himself as the type to go through memory lapses, sure, but it could happen to anyone.

With that, he continued on his path, blocking out his thoughts with a hum.

* * *

Linksano kept slamming his fingers onto the keyboard. "Damn it, where would he be?"

"How would I know?" Insano asked. He was the only one still unfazed by what was going on, mostly because he couldn't figure out what was happening in the first place. "Wayne, you still haven't—."

"Do either of you know where the Critic would be?" Linksano, completely ignoring his brother, turned to the two reviewers behind him.

Spoony, still trying to coax Linkara out of shock, threw his head over his shoulder. "How should I know? The guy could be in stuck in a Plot Hole again and I'd give three-tenths of a fu—."

"His studio." Linkara cleared his throat. He put back on his hat, readjusting his posture to look more relaxed than he actually was. "He might be by his studio."

That was all Linksano needed. He blocked out Spoony's questions, Linkara's fumbling explanations, and Insano's attempts to grab his attention as he typed in another set of coordinates.

* * *

While on the sixth street, Critic heard a Bard outside a tavern. The musician's lyre playing was sloppy, but Critic could hear him perfectly recite a poem:

"Hey, man in the moon, forever  
mid-stride, frozen there, faltering,  
burdened by brushwood and briars,  
you've the look of a man who's afraid of a fall,  
for frost, at its fiercest grips, deep in the bones  
and thorns, will tear right through a shirt.  
Who knows when, if ever, you sleep? Only  
the rags on your back and the hedgerows can tell."

The wind picked up again, causing the back of Critic's neck to grow cold. He didn't notice, instead focusing on the Bard.

"What road can it be you are walking,  
held still on that path, one foot set  
so squarely ahead? Is there nothing  
you've seen that can move you at all?  
Oh, slowest man in the universe, fated  
for all time to fix up the holes in your fences,  
forever hacking fresh thorns with your axe  
in your cycle of labour and toil."

No contradicting memories came to Critic's head while the Bard spoke.

"Were you born on the moon, were you  
raised there? However you got there,  
crooked like a friar, crippled over with fear,  
you've been there a very long while.  
I believe you're there doing time, banished  
for thieving that bundle of thorns, caught  
and fined by the countryside warden,  
and that things haven't turned out so well."

The NC began to feel like he was back home.

* * *

"I think I might've — Yes, yes! That's him! I found Critic!"

* * *

Critic was about to enter the seventh street, but he could still hear the Bard's voice at the corner.

"But you've paid your dues, come on home,  
stride out down the path you are on.  
I'll buy that warden a drink, get him as drunk  
as a little drowned mouse, let my girl  
work her serious charms on the man  
and between us we'll get back your fine.  
Come on down, poor man, take the next step.  
Reclaim what's yours in the world."

Critic didn't notice as a sparkling green light began enveloping him.

"Hey. Man in the moon. You're not listening.  
I'm wasting my breath trying to help you  
be free. You're one hopeless case. You couldn't  
care less for the way things could be. Go to hell  
in your wretched torn clothes! I know you've had it  
to here with standing up there, and I know  
you'll just stand there all night never making  
the move. It drives me insane. It's a puzzle—."

It was only when the light totally enveloped Critic that he snapped back to reality. The Bard had been cut off.

* * *

Linkara, Spoony, Linksano and Insano all turned toward the back wall as Critic arrived. The sudden shift of locations caused Critic to lose his balance, and he fell onto the hard, steel floor of Comicron-1.

"Ow!" Critic cried out. He groaned. "Son of a bitch, I'm never getting a break today, am I?"

Spoony took a step back in surprise. "The hell happened to your clothes?"

Linksano shoved Spoony and Linkara aside before Critic could reply. He hurried over to Critic, getting on one knee when he reached him.

"What's your name?" Linksano asked.

Critic looked up in confusion. "Why are you—?"

"Answer the question," Linksano interrupted. "What's your name?"

"Nostalgia Critic. We've known each other for, like, years now. You should know this."

"So, you know who I am?"

"Did all those chemicals mess up your brain?" Critic narrowed his eyes. "Of course I know who you are. You're Doctor Linksano."

"Do you know who they are?" Linksano pointed at the three men behind him.

"Yeah, Linkara, Spoony, and Insano. Three pains in my ass that never seem to go away."

"Looks who's talking," Insano mumbled.

Linksano, once more, ignored him. "Do you know where you are right now?"

"What the hell's going on? Why do you keep—?"

"Answer the question. Do you know—?"

"Yes, I'm on that goddamn spaceship Linkara owns! Are you done yet?"

Linksano sighed in relief.

"Thank God, your memory's still intact." Linksano got up, and Critic followed suit. "For a moment, I thought the skewed timeline totally destroyed it."

"Hey, remember me?" Insano crossed his arms as Linksano finally looked at him. "Still have no idea what's going on here."

"Yeah, I'm lost," Spoony agreed.

Linkara licked his lips as his gaze went down. "The, uh, time anomaly I mentioned before? It must have been caused by someone stealing the time machine."

"What?" Insano turned to Linkara. "That's impossible. I put the keys down in Spoony's house. We were gone for three minutes!"

"Then, someone must've broken in or something because—!"

Linksano choked on his words. So, instead, he pointed at the monitors beside him.

"Well, see for yourself."

Spoony, Insano, and Critic looked. Spoony and Insano's composure completely changed, though Critic didn't understand why. One of the few things Critic was sure of was how Earth looked, and the monitors mirrored his thoughts. Most of it was sprawling grasslands, green meadows filled with bugs. Some parts of the world were forests, thick with Oak trees and crawling with animals, like deer or rabbits. In the very center of the screen, surrounded by flora and fauna, sat a small village made of cobblestone brick and hay. Although, Critic didn't recognize the name that was in dark green text underneath: **NEW YORK CITY, 2:45 P.M.** Spoony and Insano seemed to recognize it, though, as both of their faces were in a similar state of shock.

"Jesus Christ…" Spoony couldn't stop staring at the image before him.

"Who did this?" Insano looked between Linksano and Linkara. "Is it saying who did this? Any leads?"

Linkara sighed. "I might have one. You guys remember that creep from a few years ago, Malachite? The dark sorcerer? Well, Critic, Spoony, and I were in a coffee shop, and—."

"'That creep'?" Critic interrupted, raising an eyebrow.

"Hm? Oh, yeah, I guess 'that bastard' would work better now, given the circumstances. As I was saying, that bastard was—."

"Whoa, cool it, Linkara!" Critic held out his hands in a warning manner. He looked over his shoulders, almost expecting someone to come from the shadows. "I mean, yeah, I hate the guy like everyone else, but his Secret Police are everywhere. Even calling him a name might be enough for a beheading, y'know?"

Linkara, Spoony, Linksano and Insano looked at Critic with a similarly confused look.

"What are you talking about?" Insano asked.

Critic looked at his companions like they were crazy.

"Malachite? Y'know, the ruler of everything? Kinda hard to miss."


	4. Crackpot Inventor Declared Insane

**Chapter Four: Crackpot Inventor Declared Legally Insane**

After a moment, Critic blinked a few times. "Wait, no. That's not… Is it… What?"

Critic's legs grew shaky, but Linksano steadied him before he could fall again.

"Malachite's the one who did all this?" Spoony asked. His skin was still paled from shock of seeing New York City reduced into a handful of shacks, but between him, Linkara, and Insano, he was the best off. Insano seemed unfocused, though by what was anyone's guess. Linkara's fingers kept fidgeting, like they were trying to find anything that could distract him.

"I-I don't know, he might've." Critic used one of his hands to hold his throbbing head.

"When?" Spoony took a step forward. "Any huge moments? When did all of this start?"

"He's been here for thousands of years." Critic shut his eyes to concentrate. "I-I think. No one's opposed him – no, w-we fought him in a neighborhood, right? – but he didn't have any powers – but he's always been powerful!"

"Hey, calm down. Take your time." Linksano readjusted his position so Critic wouldn't fall to the floor. Critic didn't reply, so Linksano turned to the others. "Alright, looks like I was wrong. Some of his memories are the same, but others were changed due to the timeline split."

"T-that's good, right?" Spoony crossed his arms to seem more confident than he was. "He's got first-hand knowledge on whatever happened. He can help figure out how to turn it back."

"Not in his current state," Linksano replied. "His head's too muddled. It doesn't seem like he knows which memory goes where yet."

"Should he go lay down, then?" Linkara's eyes flickered between Spoony and Linksano. His voice sounded uncertain; uncharacteristically nervous. "It might help him concentrate on separating which memories are real and which aren't."

Linksano thought for a moment, but nodded once. "That works. Would you take Critic to one of the empty rooms on the ship, then? Preferably somewhere close."

Linkara didn't answer, but also nodded once. He walked next to the Critic and switched arms with Linksano. He led Critic away from the others, softly trying to talk to him. Perhaps he was trying to explain what was going on. The NC was out of it, though. It didn't seem like he was listening.

After the two left, it seemed whatever bother Insano had been deemed insignificant. He quickly shook his head. "Alright, top priority is figuring out what happened." Insano straightened up, tugging his lab coat to even it out. He turned back to the monitors. "I'll check the surface world for any kind of hint."

Without another word, Insano walked to the keyboards. No visible expression was on his face.

Spoony turned to ask Linksano a question, but the other scientist was already gone. Spoony took a step to leave when he heard his foot tap against something. He looked down to find the _Doctor Who_ mug, set down when the first anomaly sprung up. He picked it up. The Chamomile tea inside was a murky yellow, and Spoony could smell the honey inside. It was still lukewarm and there was a lot left, but it seemed like Linkara had totally forgotten about it during the confusion.

Spoony sighed and left without a word. There had to be a kitchen somewhere.

* * *

When Vyce owned Comicron-1, he needed a lot of rooms for higher commanding officers to rest and create strategies. The rooms they stayed in looked more or less the same. There were only two constants in each of the rooms. A bed that sat next to the backmost wall was the first constant, with a single pillow and black blanket. Across from it was the second constant, a grey television monitor. Initially, it was used for Vyce to televise important messages, nothing more. However, when Linkara got hold of the ship, 90's Kid had tampered with them so he could watch whatever he wanted. When the metallic door opened to one of these rooms, Linkara saw the T.V. and wondered if 90's Kid was okay.

Critic glanced around the room. He cautiously walked into it, trying to place names to objects he both did and didn't recognize. Linkara remained in the door frame.

"Do you want any noise?" Linkara asked.

Critic turned to him, raising an eyebrow.

"Like, put on something on so you don't have to sit in dead silence. It helps some people concentrate."

The NC considered it as he walked to the bed. "Bed" – that was a word he remembered. It was far nicer than what he was used to – possibly, as that memory may have belonged to the wrong timeline – but a bed was still a bed.

"That'd be good." Critic sat down on the bed. "Thanks."

As Linkara walked over to the monitor, the door behind him shut automatically. When he turned it on, what appeared on the monitor wasn't so much an image as it was an image border: cheesy fire effects, licking the ends of the flat screen. It faded in accompanied by the opening cords of a familiar Nirvana song. After the full image solidified, the chorus blasted on the overhead speakers, causing both Linkara and Critic to flinch. Linkara quickly turned down the volume using a dial.

"Sorry, I wasn't the last one to use this." Linkara quickly glanced at Critic, who looked more bewildered than frightened. He definitely didn't remember "grunge", that was for sure. Linkara bit the inside of his cheek. "Do you remember this song? Or this band, for that matter?"

Critic sat back up, regaining a bit of his nerve. "Should I?"

"No, it's just a band from the 90's. No one will care, unless they're fanboys." Linkara attempted a chuckle, but the mood didn't lighten. He cleared his throat. "I only ask because that was your thing, 80's and 90's stuff. Y'know, being the 'Nostalgia' Critic and all."

"Ah." Critic paused. He slouched over the side of the bed, trying to figure out whether "band" was a word he remembered. "What do I do in your 'timeline', anyway? Er, our timeline. You know what I mean."

"Yeah, that." Linkara paused, trying to figure out how to explain it. "You review terrible movies, mostly, that people remember fondly out of nostalgia. Reviewing is more or less just giving your opinion on something. You've kinda branched beyond the 80's and 90's after that whole Plot Hole fiasco, though. Some more modern movies, though all of it's still crap. You tell people why you think it's crap and let them decide whether or not they should check it out."

Critic narrowed his eyes. "Plot Hole?"

Linkara scratched the back of his neck. "It's a long story." He turned back to the T.V., pulling up a menu that cut off the dimly playing rock song. Each selection icon was just the stock photo of a DVD with a title underneath it. There was no particular order to it; they just showed up in the order they were copied to the ship's drive. Linkara thought for a moment before turning back to Critic, who was studying the room. "Do you remember movies? Not just the bad ones, but the good ones, too."

Critic thought for a moment. "Maybe?" He sighed. "I don't know. Everything's tangled up in my head."

"It's okay, I was just wondering." Linkara turned back to the screen. He then remembered something, and began quickly scrolling through the titles, only stopping briefly to read them. "I could've sworn we… There it is!"

Critic looked up to see Linkara select one of the video files. It turned the screen dark, before fading in to reveal the outline of an old T.V. It was small, silver, and it played an ad. There was a man in the center of the ad, strolling around wearing a suit. Linkara began walking out as the man started talking with a British accent. _"Central Service's new duct designs are now available in hundreds of different colors to suit your individual tastes. Hurry now."_

"What is this?" Linkara stopped in the doorway when he heard the question. He turned his head to see Critic's eyes still glued to the screen.

"It's a movie called _Brazil_." Linkara explained. The man was still talking, but he grew smaller as the shot panned out. Several other small different colored T.V.s played the ad as well, and the man talked and walked in sync on all of them. A different, silhouetted man started walking across in front of the T.V.s, pushing a visible shopping cart. "I remember you mentioned it was one of your favorites. I dunno, I thought it might help."

Critic didn't respond. The room's door shut, and Linkara didn't hear anything else.

He began to walk down the hallway when Linksano walked out of one of the adjacent rooms. The two bumped into each other, and they both stopped walking to see who they had hit.

"Sorry," Linkara quickly said.

"I was the one who ran into you." Linksano replied

Linkara blinked, glancing down the hallway to see if anyone else was there. "You're right. Sorry."

Linksano let out a small sigh. "It's fine. You're probably as distracted as I am, considering—."

Linkara looked back at Linksano, who choked on his words.

"Yeah," Linkara finished, "considering."

The two awkwardly stood there, trying to remember what they were going to do.

"Do you remember where my whiteboard is?" Linksano asked. "The one I usually do calculations on."

"It isn't in your lab?"

"It…" Linksano trailed off, thinking for a moment. He let out a small chuckle. "It probably is. Guess I blanked on that one, huh?"

Linkara also softly laughed. Linksano mumbled his thanks and started to go to his lab. However, Linkara caught his arm, causing him to turn his head.

"What would've happened to Critic if he stayed on Earth? I mean, I know his memories would change, but how quickly?"

Linksano hesitated for a moment. Still, he responded: "Well, as you'd image, not many people have studied memory loss for someone changing timelines unexpectedly. However, it seems takes a week for someone's memories to disappear entirely."

"So, what would that mean for him?"

Again, the scientist hesitated, trying to find a way to describe it. "Do you remember that scene from _Back to the Future: Part II?_ Where Doc Brown talks to Marty about what happened when Biff changed the past? Keep in mind, Doc, Marty, and Einstein were the only other people who had traveled with the DeLorean to Biff's future, so their memories were fine. Doc holds out a newspaper toward the end of the scene. He appears in the photo on the front page, wearing a straitjacket and being escorted outside Mental Ward B of a psychiatric hospital. Across the top, there's a headline: 'Emmett Brown Committed: Crackpot Inventor Declared Legally Insane'. But Biff didn't regress the timeline like Malachite did. Most likely, Critic would have had a lot more to worry about than being committed. After all, mental health treatment was far from a selling point of the Middle Ages."

Linksano felt Linkara's fingers tense around his arm. Still, Linkara let go, turning his gaze to Critic's soundproofed door. "Right. Thanks."

Linksano left Linkara, still standing in the middle of the hallway.

* * *

Spoony was looking out the window when he heard the door slide open. The kitchen, again, was added after Linkara owned the ship. It was one of several, equipped with enough supplies for a long journey. Unlike many rooms in the ship, this one seemed like it would better belong on Earth. The wallpaper was a soft blue with white trim. The floor was still grey and metallic, but a brown carpet was placed underneath a lighter brown kitchen table. There was a fairly modern steel stove and refrigerator. Next to it was a less impressive white sink that seemed better suited for a janitor's closet. Inside, there was a lone _Doctor Who_ mug, turned upside down with some water droplets collecting along the rim.

Linkara entered and noticed Spoony at the table. "Hey."

"Hey." Spoony didn't look away from the window.

"Have you seen a coffee mug by any chance?" The door slid shut after Linkara walked in. "There was some tea inside."

"Oh, uh, I sorta dumped it." Spoony pointed to the sink. "Sorry, I thought you were finished."

"Nah, it's fine. It was probably cold by now."

Linkara took one of the empty chairs at the table and pulled it out. He sat down without saying a word.

It wasn't long before Linkara began looking out the window, too. It was the only clear indication that they were out in space. Two hundred and fifty miles below, the Earth continued to rotate. As always, half of the planet was shrouded in darkness, and the Sun still illuminated the other half. Yet no lights were on the dark side of the Earth; none you could see from the atmosphere, anyway. They both knew there weren't any skyscrapers or factories down there. There were no satellites that could catch a radio signal, or any observatories with telescopes so advanced that they could see beyond the limitations of the human eye. In a way, it made the world seem smaller than before.

"How are you holding up?" Linkara sounded worried.

Spoony shrugged. "Okay, considering the situation. You?"

"Better than before, but that's not saying much." Linkara paused. "We'll get this fixed. I'm sure of that, at least."

Spoony turned his head to see Linkara placing his elbows on the table. "I hope you're right."

Neither one could figure out what to say after that. Instead, they resigned to sitting in silence, trying to pinpoint where human life was below.

* * *

Insano's ears perked up when he heard the sound of wheels rolling across the metallic floor. He swiveled around in his seat to see Linksano push in a large whiteboard. Two dry erase markers were in his pocket: one green, one blue.

"Found the board. Turns out it was in my lab after all." Linksano stopped in the center of the room. He let go of the sides as he continued, "I thought it might help us create a cohesive timeline."

"Get ready for a short line, then." Insano rubbed his temples. "These assholes are too sparse to find anything. I was only able to find this."

Linksano glanced at the video feed. Insano had zoomed in on a Chicago district. Normally, there would be concrete there; a city block created many years before that would remain many years after. Maybe some of the buildings on it were used by businesses trying to find their footing. Maybe there was a coffee shop. Now, though, there was vast grassland, empty save for a dirt road leading to a castle. The castle itself was grey and the outside guard posts looked very medieval. The only real thing of note was how large it was. If the castle had actually been in a city, it would've taken up the entirety of the block it was on, and two more blocks for good measure.

"Any idea who owns it?"

"Someone rich."

"Crap." Linksano grabbed the green marker and tossed it to Insano, who caught it with one hand. "Well, it shouldn't be too hard to jimmy-rig something." Linksano took out his blue marker and created a shaky line with it, putting an arrow head at the beginning and end points. "Do you remember the Aeon-Malachite Prophesy, by any chance? It might help contextualize things."

"Are you alright?"

The question caught Linksano off-guard. He accidentally smeared another smaller line he was drawing. Linksano looked behind him and saw Insano was standing up, his green marker held between two of his fingers.

"I'm perfectly fine." Linksano noticed the smear and erased it with his thumb. "Now, I was thinking that we should create another line—."

"Wayne."

The blue marker hovered over the board without touching it. Linksano once more turned to Insano, who now crossed his arms. "I appreciate the concern, but now's really not the time."

"You were panicking back there. You expect me to just not bring it up?"

"I wasn't—."

"Don't lie to me."

"You were panicking. We were all panicking! The timeline was literally shifting under our feet, and one of us was still on the surface. Of course there'd be panic!"

"I wasn't talking about that and you know it."

The sentence hung in the air for a moment longer. Linksano swallowed some spit in his mouth.

"What, do you want me to have a breakdown? Would that solve anything?"

"No." Insano took a step forward. "What I want is for you to be honest."

Linksano breathed in and out for a moment. He then mimicked Insano's crossed arms.

"Yes, I was panicking. And yes, it wasn't just about the immediate problem. But this isn't really the time to be digging through my psyche. We need to focus on setting everything back to normal. After that, we can have a nice, long therapy session. Does that work?"

Insano didn't reply. Linksano still took it as a hopeful sign, because he didn't immediately argue, either. He turned back to the board, adding dashes to the already existing line.

"Did you lose memories when you left your universe?" Insano asked.

Linksano froze. He visibly stiffened, but forced himself to relax.

"Yes. Some big, some small. Nothing crucial. It happens to everyone."

Insano nodded once. He uncapped his marker and maneuvered around Linksano so he could draw another long line.

* * *

Malachite had never been more comfortable. Though his throne was constructed from pure silver, he placed silk pillows on the bottom and the sides, allowing him to recline with ease. It was in the middle of a huge throne room. Tapestries and portraits of himself hung along the walls. The floors were made of white marble, and a lush red carpet extended from the double doors to where he sat. The ceiling was almost fifty feet above his head and made of stained glass. It depicted his glory throughout the years. Aeon's blood ran fast and plentiful in the first window, with Aeon himself limp and lifeless in a jagged mock-up. The red glass overtook the green glass everywhere except where Malachite – all-powerful; dignified; basking in yellow shards of sunlight – stood. The next window showed him in the middle of a group of crystal citizens, who bowed to his might. The last was of Malachite sitting in a sparking, transparent grey throne, ruling as justly and fairly as he could. His reign was ever-lasting and unopposed. The days of serving mediocre lattes to tired customers were far behind him.

The sound of the doors opening echoed throughout room like thunder. Malachite looked and saw a guard, lanky and clad in steel armor, run down the carpeted floor. When he reached Malachite's throne, he placed his hands on his knees and panted for a moment.

"What did I say about going on the carpet?"

The guard stopped breathing. He looked down, as if he had noticed the carpet for the first time.

"Many apologies, Your Excellency." The guard moved off it and stood up. Malachite could still faintly hear him wheeze.

"State whatever news you have." Malachite sat up. "I am a very busy man."

"R-right." The guard shut his eyes and bowed, as custom dictated. "All is quiet within the kingdom, sire. Even the prisoners remain silent in their cells."

"Those whose tongues are not cut out, I take it." Malachite softly chuckled. The guard uneasily chuckled alongside him, though stopped as soon as he began.

"Nothing has stirred at the borders."

"And what of the search?"

"Nothing."

Malachite scowled. He turned away from the guard. Out of the corner of his eye, Malachite could see him straighten up. "Very well. Return to your station."

The guard began to bow once again, but stopped halfway. Malachite turned to him. The guard kept his eyes glued to the floor, remaining partway bent as he spoke. "S-sire, about the search. Who are we supposed to be looking for, exactly? W-we know what they look like, I mean, but nothing more. Are they foreigners? They certainly dress bizarrely, by description alone. B-but who in their right mind would challenge you, my lord? Surely, they know of—."

"If I wanted to have my ass kissed, I would have asked."

The guard stiffened up. He stood up straight when he noticed Malachite getting up. Even with the elevated platform the throne rested on, the guard had to look down to see Malachite. However, the height did nothing to detract from his menace, already palatable as soon as the guard had entered the room.

"Since you have not been at your post long, you will not be reprimanded for your prying." Even without seeing his eyes, still covered by a pair of plastic sunglasses, the guard could feel Malachite's glare. "But know this: question any of my choices again – no matter how big or small, no matter how good or evil, no matter how it would affect anyone – and I will personally shove your head into a pot of boiling oil and only release it when all the skin has peeled off. Understood?"

The guard's eyes grew wide. He gulped, though made no answer.

"It appears as though have not heard me." Malachite grabbed the guard's throat and brought him down to eye-level. The hand that Malachite grabbed the guard's throat had a glove on it. It was a dark grey, held together with black straps, and almost seemed fake at first. But it was not fake, as the green emerald on the back of the glove glowed on top. To the guard's horror, the hand began heating up, meaning his neck would either be scorched or electrocuted. That is assuming, of course, that he wouldn't die of asphyxiation first.

Still, Malachite's voice didn't shift from its usual monotone. It only became slightly deeper when he repeated, "Understood?"

"Yes!" The guard gasped. "Yes, sir, I understand!"

Malachite held the guard's neck a moment longer before letting go. The guard scrambled to regain his balance, rubbing his neck as he stood up straight.

"Come to me again when you have made actual progress. Now, leave."

"Yes, Your Highness."

The guard quickly left the room, and the heavy doors slammed behind him.

Despite his soured mood, Malachite still smirked. He supposed he always had a weakness for his ego, but it didn't mean he couldn't enjoy it. He was still on top. No matter who got in his way, he would still be on top.

Flexing his fingers inside Malachite's Hand, the sorcerer sat back down on his throne, relaxing once more on the cushions.


	5. Heavy

_**A/N: What, it hasn't been eight months since my last update, what are you talking about? Yeah, I'm really sorry about the wait. However, I actually somewhat have an excuse: starting with this update, I'll post two chapters instead of one. This story has been eating away at me for a while now and I want to finish it by the end of the year. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!**_

* * *

 **Chapter Five: Heavy**

Dr. Insano sighed in frustration. "Okay, let's take it from the top."

Linkara, Spoony, and Dr. Linksano groaned in unison. With what little information they had, the four were trying to sort out this new universe's timeline. Every time they seemed to figure out something, though, they would find a contradiction, argue for ten minutes, and end up erasing their progress. Insano cleared up half of the white board once again, quietly repeating to himself that getting into a fist-fight over the history of mechanical engineering wouldn't solve anything.

"So, if we're supposed to fix the timeline, we first need to figure out when it skewed." Insano gestured along a break in one of the many lines on the board. "Though the Malachite-Aeon Prophesy helps a little, it's not specific enough. We need an exact day, month, and year. Even being a second off could throw everything out of proportion." Insano uncapped his green marker and wrote 'PROPHESY DETAILS' on the board in all caps. "What can we figure out just using that prophesy?"

"It probably didn't take place during winter." Linkara offered. "The legend sounds Arthurian; kings, epic battles, sorcery. Those took place around the fifth and sixth centuries. If those two fought for hours in nothing but sheep's wool, both of them would've caught frostbite."

"That's assuming it took place in northern Europe," Linksano argued. "They could've been in southern Europe. The Romans were still around; maybe Aeon and Malachite were in Greece, where they'd only have to worry about some chilly rain."

"But they're using European-style magic," Linkara said.

"What's the difference?"

Before Linkara and Linksano could continue, Insano interrupted. "We don't have time for this! For the sake of argument, let's just say that Aeon and Malachite were in northern Europe and it didn't take place during winter." Insano scribbled on the board 'NORTHERN EUROPE – NOT WINTER'. "What else?"

The three sat in silence to think.

"It could've been a warm winter," Linksano said.

Insano slapped his hand against his forehead. "We're assuming it was a normal winter. If you stood outside for more than five minutes, your dick would freeze off. It wasn't winter. End of story."

"So, that just leaves us with the rest of the year." Linkara rubbed his eyes.

Spoony sighed. "Wow, this is heavy, Doc."

Insano glared at him. "Now's not the time for _Back to the Future_ references."

"We're living in a _Back to the Future_ reference!" Spoony placed two fingers on his temples as he stood up. "I'm checking on the Critic. I'll be back in a bit."

No one spoke out against it. They didn't even seem to acknowledge Spoony leaving. He heard the arguing resume as soon as he stepped out, this time over how cold "dick freezing" temperature was.

* * *

Critic didn't immediately turn his head when he heard his door slide open. He was too bewildered with what he was watching to turn away. On the screen, the animated movie playing reeked of the 80s. Rainbow colored product placements preached about the magic of friendship in obnoxiously high-pitched voices. Generic white children, one male and one female, slightly rolled their eyes, but otherwise believed the Technicolor magic animals. The screen flashed static every other minute due to a poor VHS transfer. A line of static crossed over one of the animals – a bear, with a heart-shaped lock on its stomach – as it sang a song about sharing.

"Why the hell are you watching _Care Bears?_ " Critic recognized the voice as Spoony's. He glanced over at the man, who'd stopped in the middle of the room to stare at the screen.

"I don't know." Critic rubbed his thumb against the grey remote he held in his hand. "Linkara turned on _Brazil_ for background noise. It was good, but I lost interest halfway through. Decided to do some poking around and came across this. Better question: why does Linkara own _Care Bears?_ "

"90's Kid," Spoony explained, crossing his arms. "He doesn't admit it, but the dude goes crazy over this crap. I dunno why. Maybe he's afraid he'll lose credibility if he likes something from the 80s."

"Ah."

Spoony tilted his head, trying to read Critic's face. "Has anything cleared up in your head?"

Critic shook his hand in a 'so-so' gesture. "I remembered what 'pandering' was. And 'Hallmark'. At the very least, I don't think I'll freeze up like before."

"That's good."

Spoony's head returned to the monitor. The generic children from before had now been whisked away to Care-A-Lot, a magical land of fun and enchantment. Not that the children could enjoy any of it; they were almost instantly taken to the nursery to take care of babies unsupervised. The babies crying mixed with another musical number to drown out the dead air between the two men.

"Do—?" Spoony paused, thinking about how to phrase his question. "Do you remember anything from 2012? From the timeline where Malachite isn't an all-powerful dictator, I mean."

Though Critic found it a little odd, he thought for a moment.

"I couldn't leave my house because I pissed off a white guy with dreadlocks. But I needed to go into space, so I got a bunch of people together and we turned my house into a spaceship. The white guy with dreadlocks was still pissed with me, so he also went into space and kept trying to stop us with a balding egomaniac. There was a huge void I went into, I kinda-sorta met myself, and that's about it. Oh, I also met a guy named Donnie in purgatory. Maybe. That part's really scrambled." Critic shrugged. "There aren't many specifics. I think Linkara was a robot for a while? I know you were mostly unconscious during all of that, though. It was part of the reason I needed to go to space."

Spoony winced a little at the memory. "Yeah, it was."

Critic didn't have to be a genius to figure out Spoony was uncomfortable. "Why do you ask?"

"Well, that part when you entered the void? You merged into this thing called the Plot Hole and – y'know, it's a really complicated story. If I started explaining now, we could be here for hours. To sum up, you were dead, but you weren't, and you got bored, so you decided to come back after six months of being the universe. But things had changed too much around here by then – the transition after you left got pretty messy. By the time you decided to start reviewing again, we'd lost touch. I never really got to talk to you about everything we'd gone through. Make amends or something, I don't know. At least wrap things up. And now I have a chance to talk to you again, but your memory's a dumpster fire. Everything I'm saying might be flying over your head and I'm ranting for the sake of it. It's just—."

Spoony caught himself. He knew if he continued on, he'd just find himself getting into a longer, angrier, much more personal rant. Instead, he finished: "We never got an ending and it seems like we never will. And that's really frustrating."

The final sentence hung in the air a little longer than it should have. The Care Bears were now trying to figure out how to get the children home – there was a section between Earth and Care-A-Lot none of them were familiar with, so they didn't want to accidentally send the children there. In hindsight, it was a decidedly ominous addition: an unknown place existing between two familiar ones, like there were parts of the world no one could learn about, no matter how hard they tried. Spoony rubbed his forearm.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to kill the mood. I dunno, I guess I'm still on edge with the whole timeline reconstruction."

Critic sat up. He turned off the monitor as he asked, "Yeah, how is that going? Are you guys getting anywhere?"

"Not in the slightest," Spoony bitterly chuckled. "There's nothing we can work with, so we've just been running around in circles, screaming at each other about dick freezing."

"'Dick freezing'?"

"You had to be there."

"I can be." Critic stood up to reach eye-height with Spoony. "I have memories of the world down there. I don't know if I actually lived them, but they do exist. It could help save some time."

Spoony bit the inside of his lip, glancing back at the door. "I mean, I agree you'd probably know more, but… I dunno. You said you wouldn't freeze up anymore, but you probably still need to sort things out. I know we sure as hell won't help anything."

"I can manage with what I got! At the very least, I'll have something to do. Just give me a chance, please?"

A part of Spoony wanted to laugh – this was the closest Critic had ever come to begging. Though still a little hesitant, he shrugged.

"Eh, what the hell. At least you haven't made me want to hurl myself into space yet."

Something of a smile went onto Critic's face. It wasn't even really a smile – just an upturned corner of his lip. Though he knew the gesture wasn't supposed to be malicious, Spoony quickly turned to head out the door. He'd never seen the Critic smile, and actually seeing it kinda unnerved him.

As the two began walking down the hallway, Spoony asked, "Do you remember why you went out to space in 2012? The main reason?"

The NC thought for a moment.

"No, not really," Critic replied. "Should I?"

"I was just wondering." Spoony turned the hallway corner. "It'll come back soon enough."

* * *

"That doesn't make any goddamn sense! Why would there be guns in the fifth century?"

As soon as he entered in the monitor room with Critic, Spoony found himself biting back a groan. Insano and Linkara stood in the middle of the room. Judging by the strain in Linkara's voice, this particular shouting match had been going on for a while. Towards the back of the room, Linksano had an eraser in one hand and a side of the whiteboard in the other. The board itself was a mess – the once fairly neat segmented timeline was now replaced with a smeared, half-formed series of points vaguely related to each other.

Insano jabbed his pointer finger towards Linkara's side. "You have a gun powered by magic! Even without utilizing our 'blasphemous' modern technology, Malachite could create guns to take down the aristocracy! They'd never see it coming!"

"Yeah, again, because they're in the fifth century!" Linkara tried to swat at Insano's finger, but the scientist pulled it away too fast. "Guns weren't invented until nineteenth century! Unless you're Ash Williams, you can't take down a medieval king with a pistol!"

"Are you still hanging on to that King Arthur crap? We've chucked that theory already!"

"We did?" Linksano darted his head around to Insano. "When the hell did we do that?"

"Like, twenty minutes ago!" Insano groaned. "It's like I'm the only one paying attention around here."

"But the fifth century is the only time that makes sense!" Linkara threw his arms up in the air in exasperation. "What, you think magic was gonna fly in during the Puritan Let's-Burn-Any-Woman-Who's-A-Little-Antisocial-Because-She's-Obviously-A-Witch reign of Europe?"

"First off, that was mostly concentrated in England, which isn't even the most powerful country in Europe. It wasn't a Puritan reign of Europe; it was a Puritan reign of England. There's a difference. Second, you're telling me that I-Named-My-Most-Powerful-Weapon-After-Myself Malachite, who traveled back in time for the sake of an ego boost, wouldn't take down the dominant patriarchy in the most megalomaniac way possible? He used guns!"

"You're just speculating! Where's the physical evidence?"

"Should we just get rid of the whiteboard? This thing's a goddamn waste of space by this point."

"Wayne, if you touch that whiteboard again, I'll punch you in the dick."

"Oh, before or after it freezes off?"

"Stay in your own lane, comic geek!"

The arguing grew louder. Spoony, meanwhile, squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Son of a bitch."

Critic leaned closer to Spoony. "This is how we usually solve problems? I mean, I do remember a lot of arguing. Not over Puritans, but definitely arguing."

"Unfortunately," Spoony answered. He put down his hand. "This is why I don't talk to you guys more often."

Linksano, finally noticing someone else had entered the room, turned his head to the two reviewers. His face grew distraught. "Why did you bring Critic here?"

Hearing this, Insano and Linkara stopped fighting and also turned to the entrance. Linkara gained a similar expression to Linksano's, but Insano just scowled.

"Great," Insano grumbled, "as if it weren't bad enough in here."

"Shove it." Spoony crossed his arms. "Critic said he wanted to help."

"And you let him?" Linkara sounded equal parts tired, worried, and fed up.

Spoony lifted his right forearm in frustration, though his arms remained crossed. "What was I supposed to do, let him watch _Care Bears_ while we tore each other apart?"

Linksano raised an eyebrow. "He was watching _Care Bears_?"

"What you should have done was keep him out of this!" Insano, either ignoring or not hearing Linksano's comment, fully turned to Spoony. "The last thing we need is to worry about Critic in all this mess!"

"Oh, yes, because we've clearly done a lot over here. A picture of a castle and a lot of continuity errors. A five-year-old would be on a better track than us!"

"I'm this close to vaporizing something, SpoonyOne; do not test my patience."

"Wow, what a threat. Hey, I wonder how Neutro broke this week?"

"Guys, this isn't getting anything—."

"Done, yes, we get it, Linkara! Don't act all high and mighty now, 'European Magic'."

"At least that was helping! All you've done in the last twenty minutes is bringing in Critic, who can't figure out one timeline from the other!"

"He's f—look at him, he's fine!"

"'Fine'? 'Fine'?! Your memory bleeding together, to the point that you don't know where your real home is anymore, is 'fine'?!"

"Wayne, this isn't the time or place! Don't concern yourself over nothing."

"'Don't concern'— you, of all people, should know how much this concerns me!"

From then on, Spoony, Insano, Linkara, and Linksano entered their biggest argument yet. They slowly gathered into the middle of the room, getting as close to each other as physically possible, enough to provoke a fight without actually throwing a punch. Spoony was on the verge of ripping out his hair. Insano kept jabbing his pointer finger in a vague, accusatory direction. Linkara could feel his voice on the verge of giving out. Linksano looked for an excuse to throw someone into the now meaningless whiteboard. They jumped topics quicker than they could fight over them. Barely a minute passed before everyone's screeching became just that: screeching. Incomprehensible gibberish, but loud, and loud was the only thing that mattered at the moment.

Critic, meanwhile, clung to the sidelines. He was a little upset at first, knowing he was the reason the fight was getting so heated. It quickly went away, though. One of the few things he was able to figure out easily while sorting through his head was that, whenever he was around, fighting was inevitable. Instead of trying to break up everyone – something, he figured, that would never work in the first place – Critic decided to look around the monitor room. Aside from the smudged whiteboard, the castle from before still remained on the main camera system. It didn't seem particularly menacing at first, but the longer he stared, the more Critic became unnerved. Something about it felt vaguely familiar, though he wasn't quite sure—.

"We don't even know where Malachite is at this point!"

 _Oh yeah, that was it._

"Malachite's right there."

Critic's sudden interruption caught the others off guard, to the point that they simultaneously fell silent. They turned to him.

"Come again?" Linksano asked.

"A lot of what I remember down there were speeches. Malachite loved hearing himself talk. One of the things he mentioned in speeches – repeatedly – like, Jesus, you really need to bring up your house in every speech? – was his castle. Whenever he wasn't giving a speech, Malachite lurked around his castle. Unless he got usurped, Malachite is most likely in his castle." Critic pointed a thumb to the monitors. "That's his castle."

Everyone turned to the castle on the video feed.

Then, Insano chuckled.

"There's no way that's the castle," he said, darting his head around the room.

He continued to chuckle, but no one joined in. They just turned their glances to him. Insano slowed down his chuckling, but his face remained the same. He was smiling, but it was a strained smile, a 'There's-No-Way-We-Were-Able-To-Miss-Such-An-Obvious-Clue' smile. A 'None-Of-Us-Are-Really-That-Stupid-Right' smile.

After a moment, Insano's smile started to falter. He was still the only one chuckling. He focused on everyone's faces. Critic tried to look sympathetic, but it was clearly skin-deep. It looked like it took all his might not to enter hysteric laughter. Linkara, Linksano, and Spoony, meanwhile, shared the same exact look. It was not an easily describable look. It looked like how the grieving process felt, experienced all at once. It looked like their souls were trying to leave their bodies. It looked like their souls had already left their bodies, leaving behind the husks unceremoniously.

Insano finally fell quiet, and his smile dropped. He hung his head, finally coming to terms with this new information.

"There's no way that's not the castle."


	6. Surprise Visitors from the Planet Vulcan

**Chapter Six: Surprise Visitors from the Planet Vulcan**

"By the Hand, Aldrich, what happened?"

The guard who reported to Malachite covered his Adam's apple with his hand. He was still spooked by what had happened in the throne room, so he jumped when hearing a new voice. However, since he was back in the guard tower at the front of Malachite's castle, he figured he was safe and eased up. He turned his head to another guard – Driscoll, his superior – who looked extremely worried. Aldrich sighed and put his hand down, showing that he had no burn marks to cover up.

"Nothing, though reports of our sovereign's temper have not been exaggerated." Aldrich took off his helmet near a tiny mirror. The day was unnaturally hot, despite it being late October. He could feel sweat trickle down his back the entire way to his post. As Aldrich expected, his dark hair clung close to the perspiration on his neck. He ruffled his hair in an attempt to cool it down, though it just left it an unkempt mess.

Aldrich saw Driscoll wince out the corner of his eye. "My condolences. I thought seeing our sire firsthand may help with transitions, though it has not seemed like it. The Excellency can a tad difficult."

"Now there is an exaggeration," Aldrich mumbled as he put his helmet on the ground. He spoke up with his next sentence: "You have nothing to apologize for, Captain. It was my fault he lashed out. It will not happen again."

Aldrich sat on a rickety tree stump serving as a stool next to one of the windows of the tower. The field surrounding the castle went on for miles – the nearest town was a day away. For whatever reason, Malachite was very particular in choosing this location for his palace, despite how remote it was from the rest of his empire. No one was quite sure why. A popular theory was that it was the site of the legendary battle between Malachite and Aeon. It certainly felt like a tragedy had happened.

Driscoll also sat down on a tree stump near a window, but he didn't look out for any intruders. His eyes were solely on Aldrich. "If anything happened, you can tell me. Superior or not, you remain a comrade in arms."

"As much as I appreciate the sentiment, I am perfectly fine." Aldrich turned to Driscoll, as if looking into his eyes would somehow erase any lasting doubts. "Honest. I unintentionally provoked the Excellency, and he reacted accordingly. Truthfully, I expected much worse. At least I came out unscathed."

"A miracle, for certain," Driscoll, quieter than before, nodded once. His gaze turned to the opening he sat in front of and went out beyond the castle walls. Aldrich noticed a tuft of grey hairs litter Driscoll's beard. He also noticed a long scar cross horizontally on Driscoll's face, turned white from years of exposure.

Aldrich bit the inside of the lip, focusing once more on the field. "Indeed."

Neither man spoke after that. The breeze picked up a little, but nothing could truly provide relief for the world around them.

* * *

Insano missed the sound of computer humming.

Working on a time-travelling Corolla, even with help from Linksano, was a lot more time consuming than Insano had thought. For several weeks, he had been confined almost entirely to Spoony's garage, stealing spare parts to work on the Flux Capacitor 2.0. In hindsight, it was somewhat of a miracle Spoony hadn't walked in on his experiments. Then again, both of them were somewhat shut-ins. Maybe it was more a testament to the pathetic states of their social lives.

Regardless, Insano spent far more time away from the lab than he wanted to. He loved hearing vents sighing out hot air away from their CPUs. He loved feeling smooth, plastic keys against his fingers as he typed lines of code for a semi-functional invention. He loved smelling those cheap plug-in air fresheners he installed across the lab when the air got too hard for even him to breathe. The lab was an extension of him – some more controlled part of his brain that never failed on him. As long as the lab existed, he would be okay.

By comparison, the teleportation room was a wreck. Half of the room transformed into a graveyard of failed experiments; botched prototypes of Cybermats got entangled within frayed wires and miscellaneous scrap metal. The actual teleportation deck itself – Insano figured Linkara designed it because it was identical to the one used in the original _Star Trek_ series – was caked in dust. In slightly better condition was the activation computer directly in front of the deck, but Insano had been waiting the past five minutes for it to boot up, so it must've been ancient to begin with.

As he leaned back in the red swivel chair behind the main control panel, he heard the room's metallic doors slide open. He turned his head to see the Critic standing in the middle of the entryway. His right hand had extended outwards, only to recoil slightly in surprise as the doors opened.

"Oh. Technology." Critic shoved his hand in his pocket. "Forgot about that."

"Happens to the best of us," Insano replied. He turned back to the computer without a second glance at Critic. He hoped it be enough a sign for the other to make up an excuse and bug off.

It wasn't. "You're not still bitter about the castle, are you?"

"Bitter? Me? Never," Insano answered. The sarcasm practically dripped off his tongue.

Critic walked towards the console as he answered. "Hey, don't beat yourself up over it. I already knew about that – you were working with a lot less and still managed to figure out a bunch."

Insano's eyes narrowed. "Since when did you become a kiss ass?"

"Is that the teleporter?" Critic asked.

"Yep," Insano answered, deciding to ignore the abrupt subject change for now. They both turned to the teleporter, starting to light up as the computers flickered on. "My brother is much more skilled with the phone teleporters, but considering…" He gestured vaguely in Critic's direction.

"What happened, you didn't want to risk sending someone back down with it. That's fair." For the first time since entering the room, the Critic returned to his usual scowling demeanor, albeit briefly. He crossed his arms. "How long before this thing is ready?"

"Not too long. An hour, at most." Insano slightly lifted up his goggles to rub his eyes. "But it's been a long day, so Wayne and I decided to wait to use it until tomorrow."

"Alright." Critic paused. "Actually, I've been kinda wondering about you and Linksano. How are you related?"

"We share genetic code from our birth parents."

"No, I mean – Christ, this is the weirdest goddamn sentence I've ever said in my life – one of the few memories I have before the timeline went to hell is how Linksano came from another universe. And you were also a clone? Maybe? Or from the future? And Linksano revealed he was your brother during shenanigans, but also you from that other universe? So, what exactly is the deal with you two?"

Insano took a breath to speak, but stopped. He shut his mouth, leaned back in his chair, and furred his eyebrows. He never actually thought about how he would explain his relationship to Linksano. From day one, they silently agreed to be brothers. There was an adjustment, of course. Despite his rather open personality, Linksano was a very reclusive person. Neither of them really spoke during the first year they knew each other. Yet even then, if someone asked if he had siblings, Insano would always reply yes.

It took a minute before he straightened up in his chair. He stood up and started walking around the room while he talked, as if the movement combined with the computer hums would help him better focus.

"Well, the 'genetic code' crack I made before has some truth to it. If someone were to test our DNA, they would find similarities that all biological siblings have. We had the same birth parents coming from the same background. But if that same doctor poked further into Wayne's DNA, things would start to look…weird, for lack of a better word.

"Say, instead of forty-six chromosomes, Wayne had forty-nine. Now, that is an actual biological phenomenon in our world, but it's incredibly rare and – sadly – mostly results in an early death. Even if it were more common and survivable, it comes with multiple physical side effects, like a heart defect or fifth finger clinodactyly, none of which Wayne has. That could be because it's expected to have forty-nine chromosomes in his universe, so there's no reason why he would. Maybe he could lack a type of nucleotide in his DNA structure, which is fundamentally impossible to survive without a nucleic acid analogue, something we're only just starting to develop. But again, not having that nucleotide could be normal because it doesn't exist in that universe.

"So, yes, to make things simple, we refer to each other as 'brothers', even though it's not technically correct."

Pause.

"Are you even listening to me?"

"Hm? Yeah, I'm listening." Critic stood up. He had been leaning against the console and staring at the now booted up computer. On it was a simple code prompt waiting for someone to punch in coordinates. Insano honestly felt a little underwhelmed by how simplistic it was.

Insano rolled his eyes as he walked back to the computer, shooing away Critic before sitting back in the desk chair. He typed in a code to run diagnostic checks on the rest of the room. A scrawl of numbers began to appear on screen, and Insano analyzed each number as it passed. Critic must've realized he'd overstayed his welcome, as Insano saw him bounce on his heels out the corner of his eye.

"Well, I'm getting pretty tired." Critic stretched his back for emphasis. His footsteps, too, became wider as he exited the room. "I'll see you tomorrow morning before Spoony, Linkara and I—."

"You're not going down there."

"Why the hell not?" The NC dropped his act entirely as he stopped leaving the room. Insano could feel his familiar scowl burn towards the back of his head. "I know more than anyone what's going on down there. You wouldn't even know where Malachite is if I didn't say!"

Without turning his gaze from the screen, Insano took out a mechanical pencil from his pocket and held it up. "Do you know what this is?"

The silence from Critic was telling.

"It's…um, it's a…like, uh, a writing utensil, sorta like…maybe…that's beside the point!"

"That's the entire point!" Again, without looking, Insano pocketed the mechanical pencil. "Your brain's still messed up from the timeline shift! We can't take the risk of putting you down there."

For a moment, the only noises came from the diagnostic and the air vents.

Then, Critic sighed.

"Fine. I won't go."

Insano heard Critic's footsteps again, but before the scientist could say good night, the door slid open and closed once again.

* * *

Spoony was more worried than he should have been.

It was early the next day. He was the last to arrive in the teleportation room. Insano had been the first; judging by the way he rubbed his temples, Spoony wasn't entirely convinced he had ever left last night. Linkara had been second. He was currently preoccupied with checking over their supplies for the third time, making sure nothing went unaccounted for. Linksano came only fifteen minutes before Spoony and chucked a black cloak at him as soon as he walked in. "It'll help you blend in."

"Yeah, because looking like a goddamn cultist won't make me stand out in the slightest." Spoony murmured, putting on the cloak anyway.

"Alright, this is a simple recovery mission." Linksano stood firm as he spoke. "Find a way to the Corolla and get out of there as fast as possible. No matter how you get there, that's your goal. Only contact Comicron-1 under dire circumstances. Got it?"

Linkara and Spoony nodded.

"Good. Everything ready, Oscar?"

Insano still stared at the computer screen, seemingly searching for something.

"Oscar?" Linksano tilted his head.

"Hm? Oh, yes, everything's ready. Sorry, I'm a bit out of it." Insano cracked his knuckles.

"You better not mistype and send us to the Antarctic," Spoony warned.

"Keep talking like that and it won't be a mistype." Insano snapped back. Spoony took it as a good sign.

Linkara slung the knapsack of supplies over his shoulder, which was the same tint of brown as his fedora and recently acquired cloak. "Ready?"

Spoony shrugged. "Ready as I'll ever be."

With that, the two reviewers walked onto the teleporter. Linksano back up to the console as Insano typed in coordinates.

"Good luck." Insano hit 'Enter' on his keyboard.

White engulfed Spoony and Linkara as they left Comicron-1, wondering what the world below was truly like.

* * *

Linksano watched them completely disappear before picking up a paper he left on the table. "Alright, I'll go check the cameras below, see if they picked up anything—."

Linksano cut himself off when he noticed Insano standing up, buttoning his lab coat as he left the room.

"Oscar, what's going on?"

Once again, Insano didn't reply. He simply walked towards the guest rooms. He should've figured something was up when Critic didn't answer after he knocked on his door. Why hadn't he checked further? Idiot!

"Oscar, I'm getting worried. What happened?"

The door to Critic's room slid open easily. Insano poked his head in. The room was unnaturally clean, as if no one had even been there in the first place. It was so obvious. Never had something so obviously stared Insano right in the face and he blatantly ignored it. God, he was such an idiot!

"Oscar, could you actually talk to me?"

"Son of a bitch got me monologuing," Insano murmured.

Linksano raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Nostalgia Critic's gone." Insano left the bedroom, passing Linksano as he began pacing the hallway.

"What? He's down there alone?"

"No, he's kicking it on the Moon – yes, he's down there alone!"

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I didn't want to worry the others! The last thing we need right now is a delay."

"Well, crap," Linksano bit his thumbnail. "When did he leave?"

"An hour and a half ago, when no one else was awake. At the very least, he doesn't have too big a head start on us."

Linksano sighed. "Okay. We'll search the monitors for Critic, and if that doesn't work, we'll tell Linkara and Spoony the situation. Sound fair?"

Insano didn't answer, still pacing, still fuming over such an obvious oversight. But it sounded fair enough to Linksano, so he began walking back to the monitors to start the search.

* * *

 _ **A/N: I did a bit of research on Xenobiology for Insano's monologue. If any of you are interested, I'd highly recommend looking it up - it's probably the coolest stuff I've ever read relating to Biology.**_


End file.
